


An Uncommon Consequence of Habit

by SilentWolf76



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bruises, Explosions, Fever, Headaches & Migraines, Hogwarts Hospital Wing, Hurt Seamus Finnigan, Potions, chest pain, poisonous gas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentWolf76/pseuds/SilentWolf76
Summary: An explosion in Third-Year Potions isn't as simple as it seems, as Seamus suffers a brand-new, dangerous consequence of his habitual explosions.
Kudos: 6





	An Uncommon Consequence of Habit

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello hello! It’s been quite a while, eh? I found this half-finished work recently, so I’ve decided to finish and publish it! I hope you like it.  
> 23/12/2020 Edit: I've changed this from a Seamus X Reader (platonic, of course!) to a normal fic. If you prefer the X Reader version, this is still available, unchanged, on my Quotev Book of One-Shots and DeviantArt.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Third-Year Potions with Snape before lunch was never fun. The task he had set the class was fairly simple – concoct a potion which had the ability to knock someone out. It  _ would  _ be easy, if there wasn’t the risk of messing up the ingredients’ order and ending up creating a toxic gas. 

_ Is it the end of the lesson yet?  _ Dean thought as his stomach growled again. However, no-one heard it over the deafening explosion from the student next to him.

Startled, he whipped his around and stared at the sight of his friend Seamus swaying on the spot as smoke rose into the air. A small patch of very concentrated smoke – almost black in colour – shot up the Gryffindor’s nose and mouth.

“Mr Finnigan, how is it that you always seem to blow something up?” Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

The initial shock of the explosion had passed as the students began clapping in amusement. Dean Thomas, in contrast, did not, preferring to step closer to his friend and place a tentative hand on his shoulder, as if unsure whether or not he’d been burned.

Without warning, Seamus doubled over, groaning in pain  and snaking his arms around his chest  before coughing harshly, as if trying to force something out of his throat. Taken by surprise, Dean stumbled backwards, suddenly unsure of what to do.

At that moment, the bell  sounded , and Snape waved his hand dismissively. Your class began to leave, but your feet seemed stuck to the floor. You just couldn’t move.

Soon, Seamus, Dean and Snape were the only people left in the room. Dean’s hand had resumed its position on Seamus’ shoulder, before moving to his back and gently rubbing it. A whiff of burning invaded Dean’s nose, and he glanced up to see a small fire dancing on Seamus’ workbench. 

Dean briefly panicked over how to put out the fire without potentially setting his robes on fire when a shout of ‘ _ Aguamenti!’  _ called forth a jet of water from Snape’s wand, which quickly drowned the fire and the two Gryffindors.

Glaring at the Potions Master, who twitched the left side of his mouth upwards in what could have been a sarcastic smile, Dean returned his attention to Seamus, who had fortunately ceased his coughing. His face was caked in ash and soot, which made it impossible to see how pale his skin was.

“Now you’ve finished ruining my classroom, Mr Finnigan, I suggest you go and clean yourself up before setting anything else on fire in the Great Hall.” Snape muttered, before waving his hand towards the door.

“Yes Professor. Come on, Shay.” Dean gently nudged his friend out of the classroom, praying Seamus had not done any lasting damage.

* * *

It took fifteen minutes until Dean entered the Great Hall with a clean Seamus in tow, with the latter rather alarmingly appearing three sheets to the wind and very withdrawn.

“Look, everyone!” Malfoy suddenly chirped from the Slytherin table, “Finnigan’s sulking because he messed up...again!” The Slytherin table erupted into laughter. Seamus seemed to shrink into himself even more. Malfoy turned his gaze on Dean. “Did you have to baby him again, hmm? Did you have to clean him up like the-”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Harry suddenly snapped, silencing the laughter of Malfoy’s cronies.

“Or what, Potter? You’ll set Finnigan on me?” He chuckled. “’Bit of a double-edged sword there, if you ask me.” On cue, Crabbe and Goyle burst into laughter.

“Well, no-one was asking you, so shut up.” Ron mumbled, tired of Malfoy’s constant jibes. Unfortunately, his voice carried far enough across the somewhat-hushed Great Hall to reach the subject’s ears, who bristled.

Before the Slytherin could reply with some witty retort, Neville stood up. “Come on, Seamus. Let’s go to the Common Room.” Seemingly grateful for the excuse to escape, Seamus quickly turned on his heel – with a slight waver, Dean noted with concern – and followed Neville out of the Great Hall, accompanied by Dean, Harry, Hermione and Ron.

Neville quickened his pace to catch up with Seamus, who was hastily plodding upstairs as if he hadn’t slept in a week. Glancing at his face, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as Neville realised Seamus wasn’t really aware  of his presence.

“Seamus?” He jumped in surprise, confirming Neville’s previous conclusion. Seamus tried to paint a weak smile on his face, but Neville saw right through it. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, then briefly grimaced, as if the movement had caused him pain. Upon seeing Neville’s sceptical gaze, he hastily added, “I’ve got a headache. The explosion. Nothing major.”

Seamus’ clipped explanation seemed strange, but Neville figured the headache was just making him nauseous, so he didn’t want to speak much. Completely understandable.

“Well, we have Defence Against the Dark Arts next, which could be loud...are you going to be okay?” For a second, a moment of panic flickered across his face, as if he’d forgotten about their next lesson, before he smiled sheepishly.

“I uh...don’t suppose you could tell Professor Lupin I’m ill, could you? I’ll ask Dean for his notes afterwards.” Neville’s eyebrows relaxed. That, he could do – and it would give Seamus peace and quiet to nurse his headache.

“Of course. Did you want to see Madame Pomfrey first, though?” He asked, concerned about how drained the Irish wizard was from a simple headache.

Seamus was saved from having to answer as Harry, who was in the lead, reached the Fat Lady’s portrait and spoke the password. The portrait swung open, and the group of third-years entered the Gryffindor Common Room.

“Don’t listen to anything Malfoy says, Seamus,” Ron murmured on Seamus’ other side, “he’s full of rubbish, that stuck-up-"

“I know, Ron. Sorry, I just need to go upstairs.” Quickly, Seamus took off towards the staircase at a surprising speed, considering his lack of energy.

Neville began to follow him, but Dean flashed his hand out and grabbed his arm. Turning around in surprise, Neville frowned at him, but let Dean pull him away from the group.

“Have you noticed how odd Seamus is acting?” He hissed worriedly.

“He told me he had a headache.” Neville replied, curious as to why Seamus had not divulged this information with his best friend. “He asked me to tell Professor Lupin he was ill, but he’d copy your notes.”

“Oh...” Dean was clearly upset that Seamus had not told him this beforehand. “We should probably start heading to Dark Arts.” He announced to the others. “I’m just going to have a quick word with Seamus.” With that, he headed upstairs.

Quietly, Dean pushed open the door to the boys’ bedroom, wherein his chest immediately throbbed with worry as he was met with the sight of Seamus buried under his quilt, curled in a tight ball.

“Shay? You alright?” He asked tentatively, voice little more than a whisper.

The bundle under the quilt squirmed for a few moments, until Seamus’ head emerged, eyes squinting against the sunlight. “I’m fine, Dean. I don’t think I can go to-”

“I know. Neville told me. I’ll even let you copy my notes afterwards!” Dean grinned, and his infectious smile soon spread to Seamus.

“Gee, thanks – I didn’t even have to ask!” Both boys chuckled, before Seamus winced and sank a little further into his quilt.

Dean walked over to his friend and perched on the bed. “Shay, are you sure this is just a headache? You’re awfully pale – are you getting a migraine?” He reached over to feel Seamus’ forehead, but the latter recoiled into the quilt.  _ Odd,  _ Dean thought,  _ but maybe he’s just sensitive right now. _

“You should get to class. You don’t want to be late, do you?” Seamus cocked an eyebrow, smirking. Dean loved punctuality; it was the best way to get him out of the room. However, the other boy looked torn. “You’re not actually going to miss class, are you?”

“No, but...are you sure you’re going to be alright?” He looked worried. Seamus didn’t want him to be worried, so he stuck a thumbs-up at him.

“I’ll be fit as a fiddle when you get back!” Dean chuckled at the simile, before nodding and telling him to get better soon.

Outside the room, however, he hesitated again. Seamus had never suffered headaches from his explosions.  _ It’s probably just caused by smoke inhalation,  _ Dean reasoned,  _ after all, the toxic gas cloud from the potion is only caused by mixing the ingredients wrong. I do wonder what caused the explosion, though, apart from Seamus’ destructive habit.  _ Taking a deep breath, he began his descent into the Common Room.

Inside the room, Seamus sighed and rubbed his temples. He’d buried himself back under the quilt, restless from the heavy seed of worry in his stomach and the pain in his chest. He remembered the acrid tang of the smoke – it was unlike any other smoke from his usual explosions. Not to mention the fact that he’d inhaled plenty of smoke before and never had a headache nor chest pain.  _ Maybe I was already coming down with something _ , he pondered briefly, before mentally shaking his head, for physically doing so proved painful.  _ Thinking hurts my head. I think I’ll just sleep.  _ With that, the ailing Irish wizard closed his eyes and prayed for sleep to come quickly.

Anxiously, Neville awaited the return of Dean, worried that he'd thrown Seamus under the bus about the next class. When Dean appeared at the bottom of the stairs, he looked worried. 

“How is he ?” He asked, brows furrowing.

Dean sighed. “I think his headache’s turning into a migraine,” he confessed, “but he insists he’ll be fine on his own.”

“I could stay here, if you like.” Ron offered, taking a step towards the stairs.

Hermione looked horrified. “You can’t miss class without a genuine reason!” She exclaimed. “Seamus needs rest and quiet; therefore, it would be best for him to be alone. Do you really want to risk detention, Ronald?”

“Besides, we won’t be gone long.” Harry chipped in. “As soon as lessons are done for the day, you can go straight up here. I’m sure he’ll be much better.”

Understanding their logic, Ron sighed in defeat and nodded. “Alright.” With that, the Third-Years headed out the Common Room to the sound of the bell.

* * *

Exhausted, Dean trudged into the dormitory. He'd been restless throughout Dark Arts – all he wanted to do was check on his friend. 

Upon entering the Common Room, he found it already packed. However, he paid his fellow Gryffindors little heed, intent on reaching Seamus as quick as possible.

Remembering to quietly open the door rather than swing it open, Dean, closely followed by Neville, entered the room, and found Seamus to be unmoved from before. Appearing peacefully asleep, they decided to leave him be for a little while.

However, it was easy to lose track of time in the warm, friendly atmosphere of the Gryffindor common room, so it would be many hours until Dean returned to check on Seamus. Wracked by guilt, Dean hoped the extra peace and quiet had made Seamus feel even better, so he’d be back to his old self by the time they all headed up for bed.

This, however, was wishful thinking.

Seamus was still hiding under his covers, but the quilt was shaking, much to Dean’s horror. He rushed to his friend’s bedside, immediately thrusting his hand into the covers and pressing his palm to Seamus’ forehead, who squeaked in surprise and wriggled until his head protruded from the covers. 

“Y-you’re burning up, Shay.” Dean breathed, heart skipping a beat in fear. 

“’M fine.” He mumbled almost inaudibly, which no-one believed for a second.

Neville, whom Dean had not realised had followed him, quickly perched on the bed to check Seamus’ forehead for himself. It was far too warm, and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.  _ How long has he had this fever? I should have stayed with him!  _ He mentally kicked himself, glancing at Dean and realising he was having similar thoughts. Harry and Ron entered the room at that moment, their jovial mood dissipating upon reading the tense atmosphere, choked with worry.

“Seamus, tell me exactly what happened before the explosion.” Dean commanded, desperately recalling the exact recipe for the potion.

“W-well first I...” Dean mentally checked Seamus’ stammering explanation against the recipe as best he could remember it. It was all correct, until: “...then I a-added lacewing flies and-” Dean's heart dropped into his stomach as you recalled Snape’s warning that ‘ _ if you happen to mess up the order of ingredients, you will end up creating a toxic cloud of gas...so don’t mess it up’. _

_ “ _ Wait, I thought the Valerian root went before lacewing flies.” Harry spoke up, glancing at Ron for confirmation.

“Don’t look at me!” Ron protested. “Although...I think I do remember adding the root before the flies.”

Neville murmured in agreement. Seamus looked terrified for a moment, before he shrugged and laid his head back on the pillow. “Snape would have s-said something if it was serious.” He mumbled, although he didn’t sound like he believed it.

Dean frowned; he had a point. Why had Snape not said anything? Then he remembered the concentrated cloud of smoke and his blood froze in his veins. “Th-the explosion...it masked the gas cloud.” All eyes turned to Dean, encouraging him to go on. “I saw a small black cloud in the smoke; I thought it was just concentrated smoke or something – we were in Potions after all. I thought it was just because the explosion had been in a cauldron filled with ingredients...” He trailed off, mulling over the information.

“If...” Dean began again, “if that’s the case, then- Shay!” He lunged forward, shaking his friend who, to your horror, had passed out. Neville leaned closer to him, trying to detect any sign of life – and heard him take in a wheezy breath.

“He’s wheezing!” Neville exclaimed in terror. “D-do you think his lungs are damaged by the gas?”

Ron paled considerably. “We need to get him to Madame Pomfrey.”

“Or Snape.” Harry added. Dean shot him a look; he would take Pomfrey over Snape any day. “What? Snape’s sure to know the remedy!”

While they were bickering over which adult they should go to, Neville realised Seamus’ eyes were open – and filled with pain. One hand was clutching his chest, the other his head.

“...Seamus?” Neville whispered uncertainly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Seamus flinched at his touch and pressed his face deeper into his pillow, a whine of pain turning into a spluttering cough. Neville could feel his body heat through the quilt – and his school robes, he realised when he gently pulled back the covers. He’d simply gone straight to bed at lunchtime.

“I’m sure Madame Pomfrey will know how to- Neville?” Dean knelt on the floor and ran his hand through Seamus’ hair, who visibly relaxed at the comforting motion. Dean’s eyes flickered to Neville. “Why is he in pain?”

Neville shrugged. “He’s wheezing...maybe his chest hurts? He’s clutching it, look-” he pointed accordingly, “-so his-”

“Maybe we’ll see something on his chest – like bruising or something?” Ron interrupted, frowning at Seamus’ wheezing.

“We should roll him onto his back, right?” Neville piped up. “It’ll be easier to move his clothes then.”

“Shouldn’t we get him to Madame Pomfrey first?” Harry queried, cocking his head to one side. “We can't help him.”

Dean glared at him. “We can try!” Surprised by the aggression, Neville peered closer at him, and realised his eyes were shining with desperation.  _ He wants to help however he can,  _ he thought sympathetically, as Neville hated being powerless to alleviate his friend’s suffering. 

Gently, they all moved Seamus onto his back, eliciting a pained groan and weak cough. Dean's heart panged with concern, desperate to relieve his pain but having no idea how. He instinctively reached for his hand, which was clutching his chest and so in the way, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Like a Venus fly trap, Seamus' hand fastened around his friend's, digging his nails in to try and alleviate some of his agony. Quickly, they removed Seamus’ robes and tie and undid the first few buttons of his shirt to expose his chest.

“Gosh...that doesn’t look good.” Neville murmured, voicing Dean’s thoughts.

A colourful smattering of bruises, mostly purple and blue, painted his chest.  _ No wonder he’s in agony,  _ he thought, shocked.  _ This is really serious.  _ As if in a trance of disbelief, he tentatively reached forward with his free hand to touch the bruises. His fingertips almost grazed the overheated skin-

“Don’t!” The word was spat out in a harsh exhale, and Dean snapped his head up to lock eyes with Seamus. There was so much pain in the depths of his pupils; and fear, too.  _ Afraid of me hurting him?  _ He thought, horrified.

“I’m sorry Seamus. But we need to get you to Madame Pomfrey.” He nodded tiredly, squeezing Dean’s hand as a new spasm of pain coursed through his chest. Dean glanced desperately at the others, opening his mouth to say something – when Seamus’ hand suddenly went limp. “Seamus?!” He exclaimed, realising the latter had passed out again. 

“How are we going to get him to the Hospital Wing?” Ron asked.

“I can carry him.” Neville immediately offered, rising to his feet.

“Nev-" Dean began.

“I’ll manage. Just make sure he doesn’t fall off.” Dean nodded wordlessly.

“Ron and I will light the way with our wands then.” Harry decided. “We wouldn’t get any sleep if we stayed here, so we might as well all come along.” Neville and Dean shot the others a grateful look.

Carefully, Dean and Ron lifted Seamus out of his bed and hoisted him onto Neville’s back. Seamus weakly groaned in protest as his bruised chest pressed against Neville's back, and Dean instinctively whispered a short apology, knowing he couldn’t hear it, before gently rubbing his best friend’s back to offer some comfort. There were two quiet whispers of ‘ _ Lumos’  _ before the group set off.

They immediately set a hasty pace, yet were very conscious not to jostle their incapacitated friend. With any luck, they hoped to reach the Hospital Wing without being caught by a teacher – after all, they weren’t supposed to be out of bed at this time.

Luck, however, wasn’t on their side.

“Well, well, well.” A voice sneered from behind. “Potter and his friends out for a late-night stroll, with a murderer on the loose somewhere?” They had no choice but to stop and turn around. The light from Snape’s wand was bright – Neville hoped Seamus wouldn’t wake from it. Snape frowned as he noticed Seamus hunched over his back. “What’s wrong with Mr Finnigan?”

“That’s why we’re out, Sir.” Harry piped up, moving to the front of the group. “He breathed in poisonous gas from Potions.”

Snape raised an eyebrow, emotions carefully hidden. “So, on top of blowing up his cauldron, he poisons himself?” Before Dean could defensively retort, eyebrows knitting together angrily, the Potions Professor continued, “I did warn you all to  _ not  _ mess up the order of ingredients.” He sighed. “Come, quickly; Madame Pomfrey has the remedy in the Hospital Wing.” Under his breath, he muttered, “I made sure she was well-stocked; I figured there would be at least one.”

With Snape leading the way, the group quickly made their way to the Hospital Wing. Neville desperately tried to ignore the tickle of the rivulets of sweat cascading down his back from a mix of fear, adrenaline and Seamus’ fever. The latter seemed higher than before, and Seamus’ breathing was more strained – most likely due to the pressure against his chest.

“Professor,” Dean suddenly called, “what does the poison gas do, exactly? Seamus’ chest was badly bruised – how did gas cause that?”

There was a brief flicker of worry across Snape’s features as he turned his head to look at the Third-Year, before it was swept behind his mask. “The gas stays in the lungs, and reduces the amount of space for oxygen. Some of it gets absorbed from the alveoli to the bloodstream – the combination of the foreign gas and decrease in oxygen in the blood causes headache and fatigue. Later, the body tries to destroy the gas with a fever, which it looks like Mr Finnigan has.” The light from the four wands was making the sweat on Seamus’ face glow eerily.

“And the bruising, Sir?” Dean continued, reaching up to card his fingers through Seamus’ hair as he coughed harshly against Neville's shoulder. The ailing wizard felt tense against the latter's back – the coughing was only hurting him more.

“The unabsorbed gas damages cells, which causes some capillaries to burst. It does, however, take a long time for bruising to appear on the surface of the skin.” As he explained, Snape glanced at Seamus.  _ He’s really worried. Seamus has had toxic gas in his lungs since before lunch. Merlin’s beard...could he die? _ Immediately, Neville chided himself for such awful, pessimistic thoughts.

Harry suddenly shot forward, throwing upon the doors to the Hospital Wing.  _ I didn’t even realise we were here already.  _ Neville thought, surprised but relieved.

_ “ _ Madame Pomfrey!” Dean yelled. Within seconds, she appeared – by the exhaustion in her features, he surmised she hadn’t been asleep.

“What is-” She cut herself off when her gaze met his, quickly darting to Seamus upon Neville’s back.

“Poppy, it would seem we’re in need of the remedy after all.” Snape called from behind  the Third-Years.

Nodding, Pomfrey beckoned them over to the nearest bed. “Put him here. I’ll be back in a second.” She rushed off, and Neville awkwardly squatted perpendicular to the bed whilst Dean and Ron, positioned either side of him, carefully placing Seamus on the bed as if he was made of glass. 

Gasping at the movement, Seamus  grasped his chest, eyes screwed up and free hand clutching the bed covers.  Pomfrey rushed back, holding a small bottle with a clear liquid inside. 

“Longbottom, Thomas, help sit him up.” She ordered, popping the cork out of the bottle. They quickly rushed to obey, hearts hammering with fear. Simultaneously, they both pushed him up, wincing at his short cry of pain, which dissolved into coughing. “Drink this, dear. It’ll help, I promise.” Pomfrey handed Seamus the bottle, who wearily held it in a shaky grip.

“Come on Shay; you got this.” Dean encouraged,  perching on the bed and soothing Seamus with a hand through his hair again. 

Neville placed his hand over Seamus’ free one, squeezing it gently. “Swallow it straight away, yeah? It probably won’t taste great – it is Snape’s cooking, after all!” His daring attempt to lighten the atmosphere was in vain due to the tension in the room – this was, after all, potentially a life-or-death situation.

Seamus raised the bottle to his lips and, with a brief hesitation at the stab of pain in his chest, downed the liquid quickly, screwing his eyes up at the bitter taste. Dean watched him, hardly daring to breathe. Yet Seamus didn’t seem to be improving. He was still wheezing, his skin hot to the touch. His hand was still clenched around yours, in unspeakable pain.

“Did you expect it to work instantly, Thomas?” Madame Pomfrey asked sarcastically, reminding him of Professor McGonagall. “Lie down, Finnigan; you need to rest now.”

Stiffly, Seamus lowered himself into a more comfortable position with Dean’s help. With a ragged sigh, he closed his eyes, and lapsed almost instantly into unconsciousness.  _ Gee, this has really exhausted him,  _ Dean thought with pity.

“The remedy will clear up the poisonous gas in his lungs in half an hour; it will take a bit longer for the gas in his blood.” Neville and Dean exchanged horrified looks, so  Pomfrey quickly added, “Not  _ that _ long, boys. Two hours or so.” She shook her head at them exasperatedly as they sagged with relief. “His fever should go in about a day, and the bruises should be completely gone in a week or two.”

“How long will he be in pain for?” Ron asked, hands resting on the metal frame at the foot of the bed.

“That depends.”  Pomfrey replied with a faint smile.

Harry frowned. “On what?”

“Whether or not Mr Finnigan will be elbowed or poked in the chest in the next fortnight.”

Dean sighed with disappointment. “ So he’ll be in agony until the bruises are gone?”

“No, dear; the pain will fade with the bruises. But it hurts to poke a bruise, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I get it,” Ron piped up with a grin, “he’ll be fine so long as we keep him in a bubble.” 

Neville chuckled. “At least there won’t be any explosions for a while.” The tense atmosphere finally broke as everyone (bar Snape) cracked a smile.

“Well, now Mr Finnigan is on the mend, you should all get back to your dormitory. I will escort you.” Snape declared.

“But-” Dean started, loath to leave Seamus.

Snape fixed you with a stern glare. “No buts, Mr Thomas. You can all visit Mr Finnigan in the morning, at a more...reasonable hour.” The disappearance of adrenaline had forced the brunt of Dean’s exhaustion onto his shoulders, and he supposed a few hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

Delicately, Dean extracted himself from his perch on the bed, fondly squeezed his sleeping friend’s shoulder and stood. Harry and Ron headed towards Snape, and Neville reluctantly followed. Torn, Dean found his feet glued to the floor.

Madame Pomfrey rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be with him, dear. He’ll be as fit as a fiddle in no time!”

Dean smiled softly. “He used the same phrase earlier.” Sighing, he rose to his feet. “I’ll be back soon, Shay. I promise.” With that, he headed towards Snape.

* * *

The bright morning sun burned Neville’s eyes as he opened them, feeling somewhat rejuvenated. He'd only just managed to summon the energy to get changed before falling asleep, utterly exhausted. 

Dragging himself into a sitting position, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and realised that Dean was already up.  _ I shouldn’t be surprised,  _ he thought.  _ I’m pretty desperate to see Seamus too. _

Crawling out of bed, he hastily rushed through his morning routine, during which Harry awoke. Ron, however, snored on.

“We’ll see Seamus with Hermione.” Harry promised, indicating to Ron.

“Okay.” Neville nodded, getting to his feet. Glancing at Dean, the pair left the room.

Not long after, Dean and Neville reached the Hospital Wing. No doubt word had quickly gotten around – nothing ever remained a secret for long at Hogwarts.

Relieved to see the doors already open, they rushed into the Hospital Wing – to be greeted with the sight of a grinning Seamus sitting upright, albeit stiffly, waving as if he wasn’t in a hospital bed. His jovial smile was infectious, and soon all were grinning.

Dean quickly perched on the bed and gently hugged his best friend, immediately recoiling when Seamus winced in pain, his body going tense.

“Sorry, sorry!” He frantically apologised, hands waving around.

“I’m fine, Dean. Just a bit sore.” Seamus waved his concern away, struggling to sit up straighter. Neville rushed over to help him, but the struggle still left Seamus rather breathless, and Neville wondered if maybe he wasn’t as ‘fine’ as he was letting on. After all, he still felt quite warm, suggesting that his fever wasn’t completely gone. He held himself – particularly his chest – very stiffly; maybe he shouldn’t be sitting up yet.

“You know Seamus,” Dean piped up, “Neville is the one who got you here. Never got tired; either you’re super light, or he’s super strong!”

The bedridden wizard turned to the aforementioned Gryffindor with a teasing smile. “So, you’re my stallion, eh? My noble steed-” he spread his arms dramatically, fighting back a wince “-who saved my life, hmm?” 

Neville blushed, playfully retorting, “I was more the friend who dragged your sorry arse to the Hospital Wing.”

Seamus chuckled, subtly rubbing his chest as he did so. His smile softened into a grateful, genuine one. “Thank you, Neville. Dean too. Seriously. I was too stubborn to confide in either of you when I could; look where that got me.” He scoffed, looking down.

Dean gently patted his shoulder. “Eventually, it got you in the Hospital Wing – where you needed to be. The stakes were just a little higher, that’s all.”

“’A  _ little  _ higher’?” Neville echoed incredulously, shaking his head. “You scared us all half to death, Seamus; please don’t do that again.”

Seamus chuckled, which erupted into a brief coughing fit that left him doubled over, clutching his chest. Worried, Dean shook his shoulder. “Are you okay, Shay? Should I get Madame Pomfrey?”

“N-no, I’m good.” Leaning back, he rubbed his chest and focused on calming his breathing.

“Neville had a point though, Shay. Please; no more explosions. Particularly in Potions.” Dean begged, rubbing Seamus’ shoulder.

“I can’t help it; explosions are a bit of a habit for me.” Seamus protested.

“Well,” Neville chipped in, “at least promise not to involve poisonous gas ever again.”

Seamus shot him an offended look. “I don’t  _ plan _ my explosions; they just happen.” He smiled mischievously. “Besides, I can’t promise that; anything can happen, right?” He huffed. “Especially in Potions.”

Neville sighed and rested a hand on his knee, before fixing him with an exasperated glare. “Well, at least try to keep this-” he indicated at his bedridden form with a wave of his hand “-to a minimum. An extremely rare occasion.”

Seamus raised an eyebrow. “I can do uncommon; not extremely rare.”

Dean elbowed him in the arm, careful to avoid his chest. “Shay-”

He shot his best friend an innocent expression. “What? This has happened  once; look at how many times Harry’s gotten into bother!”

“I don’t do it on purpose!” A voice called from the entrance to the Hospital Wing.

Neville looked over. “Hiya Harry! Hello Hermione, Ron!” He waved, and the trio walked over.

“Harry and Ron told me what happened last night.” Hermione explained. “I’m just glad it all turned out alright. Honestly, I do hope you’ll read the instructions more carefully from now on, Seamus!”

Ron patted Seamus on the knee. “How are you feeling, mate?”

The latter grinned at Dean, before replying to Ron, “As fit as a fiddle!”

His best friend rolled his eyes. “You’re a long way from ‘fit as a fiddle’, Shay.”

“At least I’m on the mend.” He chuckled lightly. “But I’ll at least  _ try  _ to avoid-”

“ _ Mr Finnigan _ !” A shrill voice echoed across the Hospital Wing as Madame Pomfrey stormed over, confirming Neville’s earlier thought that Seamus probably  _ shouldn’t  _ be sitting up yet. “Lie back down! Merlin’s beard!” She glared at the congregation surrounding his bed. “Shouldn’t you all be heading to breakfast? You’ve seen him now; off you go.” She shooed them away from the bed. “He needs  _ rest _ , not a party!”

The Gryffindors found they had no choice but to be forced out of the Hospital Wing, but their hunger mitigated their complaints.

“Hey, bring me some food!” Seamus called after them, sounding rather desperate.  _ Of course,  _ Neville  remembered,  _ he never had lunch or dinner yesterday. _

Turning around, he flashed Seamus a grin and a thumbs-up. Dean was more serious. “Just take it easy, yeah Shay? Listen to Madame Pomfrey!” In response, he got a  mischievous grin from his best friend.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The potion was completely made up. Please don’t murder me for Potions inaccuracies.


End file.
